bonnie[ @fanprompt | amputate ]
for the first time in his life, light’s breathing is louder, heavier, than his thoughts. the timer’s haunting tick is a muffled, intermittent beep. even L, who does not vary even in tone so long as it is unnecessary, trembles, micro-jitters perceptible only through the slight jingling of the chain linking their handcuffs.
from the phone in L’s hand, misa’s muffled sobbing backtracks his father's scolding/pleading/begging.
“light,” his father tries, one last time, “i’m begging you. put the knife down.”
loose debris crumbles from the pillar overhead, shunted across the last cavity of what used to be headquarters.
“light, my son, please.” soichiro’s voice is so sincere, splitting open before every ragged breath he heaves, that light’s grip on the cleaver slackens.
but light has to do this.
after all, with these cuffs tying him and L together, neither of them are leaving this crumbling building. not with his arm pinned.
he (always/arrogantly) said he’d do whatever it takes to catch kira. that won't happen if this place becomes their grave. becomes L’s grave.
so why is L looking at him like that? with his lip bitten so hard between his teeth, blood trickles down his chin and drips onto his dusty white shirt.
light raises the cleaver; the cuff’s links pull taut. there shouldn’t be this much resistance—light tugs again, jerks his arm back and overhead, and and L’s mouth drops open. light tries not to see it; light tries to focus on it. what’s an arm to two lives?
he can’t feel it anymore, anyway.